#max trevelyan

[shadovvheart]

I think I've finally decided whom to romance with my rooks. neve and lucanis are so my type it'd be a crime not to kiss them. and I won't forgive myself if I don't romance harding after ten years of asking for her to be romanceable

[spy-battle]

Spy Losers: Round Two A

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

Ocs as song lyrics

Thank you so much for the tag @dirty-bosmer and @mareenavee 💖💖 I love this idea so much!

Rambles will be under the cut! Also, I am tagging @thelavenderelf @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @shitty-drawer and anyone else who wants to join in!

For Ravonna, I chose something more angsty and serious, as I'm currently writing the chapters where she will eventually be forced to come face to face with her grief. The song I chose is "The drug in me is you" by Falling in Reverse. This is like her angsty anthem in WYGTYA! The lyrics really represent how she refuses to deal with unpleasant emotions and to always hide behind the "cheery, fun bard" mask. Also, the last line could be an exploration of her feelings towards being the last dragonborn.

I felt the darkness as it tried to pull me down The kind of dark that haunts a hundred year old house I wrestle with my thoughts I shook the hand of doubt Running from my past I'm praying feet don't fail me now!

I've lost my god damn mind It happens all the time I can't believe I'm actually Meant to be here

I've said it once and I'll say it again, "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls is Miraak's song! The pining!! The softness!! The suffering!! And these lyrics really fit into his arc of how he wants to get rid of the 'Miraak' persona once and for all because that's not who he is. He doesn't want the world to see him as 'Miraak' because they wouldn’t understand. They don't know what he's been through and how he was forced to join the Dragon Cult and become their leader. He wants people to know who he really is. And he is Fenrik, the healer from Atmora with a heart that is too soft.

And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

For my beloved Hjaldir (who *will* be in my fic at some point, I promise), I think that the perfect song is "Slipping through my fingers" by ABBA. As of where the story is now, we don't really know what happened to him. One day he was living at the Emerald Bar Tavern as the bard, laughing and having a great time and going on several trips to High Rock to resupply the Tavern, and the next day, Ravonna’s adoptive father was assassinated, and both her and Teldryn were gone. So they all slipped through his fingers :( But Ravvy's absence hurts the most. He knew her from when she was a little kid. He watched her grow, he's been there for her in all the stages of life.

The feeling that I'm losing her forever And without really entering her world I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter That funny little girl

Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind? Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time

And now for my beloved Dragon Age ocs, because I cannot do this without including them!

For Max Trevelyan, I chose "The little things give you away" by Linkin Park. Wow, I really woke up today and chose angst, but these lyrics really fit with his family and how disapproving they are of him even just for the fact that he exists. And how becoming the Inquisitor and the one with the ability to close the rifts was the best think that happened to him, because he finally cut ties with his family. Really ironic, considering that The Anchor was slowly killing him. BUT HE IS FINE NOW, LIVING HIS BEST LIFE WITH HIS HUSBAND AND HIS ORANGE KITTY.

Don't want to reach for me, do you?

I mean nothing to you

The little things give you away

And now there will be no mistaking

The levees are breaking

And for Aedan Cousland, I went with the angsty option again. I chose this wonderful song called "Burning Daylight" by Dion Cooper and Mia Nicolai. This song could fit with several ocs of mine, but it encapsulates Aedan's feelings towards his dangerous quest and being a grey warden. It perfectly encapsulates the pressure of wanting to be a grey warden to honour his father's deathbed wish, but hating every part of being a grey warden, especially how everyone in the order hid the gory details from him before he joined. He feels like he is running out of time, but he wants to burn daylight, he wants to slow down and just live, while he still can.

From all to zero Where did I go?

Between falling and running I've been trying to get on my feet in time I've never been good at crying Always wanted to be the tough type

I'm sorry, I'm just human I'm losing myself while chasing highs I'm losing myself while chasing highs And burning daylight

[potatoesandsunshine]

maxwell trevelyan all you do is suffer...

[theluckywizard]

Inquisitor Maxe Trevelyan

OC of @skyeventide drawn in Procreate this morning! A little detail about him from Sky: "The Inquisition is that it finally represents something that is HIS, as though Andraste finally led him to his calling. Long story short, it goes a bit to his head, and not only does he support it, he is also a little prone to turning a blind eye to its obvious overstepping national boundaries and working as a superstructural "independent" power. He embodies it at a level that slights against it are slights against him. The true dangers of its overreaching don't quite hit him in the face until Trespasser." Fics forthcoming!

[sexilydrawn]

I LOVE a character sheet I love making them, I love a good armor set.

Max's world state runs paralell to the games unlike Rook who has a completely unique set up. Max had deviations in his backstory like his extended family and his red lyrium arc, but aside from them the events of his life are the same as the games. Some outcomes are different, there's no way the south suffers as much since Max has 2 brothers one in charge of an entire country's army and one with a private armada. Max himself has his own templar order and his mother is a respected tribes woman of the Avaar. House Trevelyan stretches across Thedas, they own hundreds of thousands of horses and some of the best armourers. This one family can put the hurt on any blight. Max's left arm also reformed out of the red lyrium he was poisoned with. The gauntlet he wears over it is enchanted to keep the effects under control.

[hpowellsmith]

How would each of the ROs across all three games deal with the discovery that their partner is, in fact, a bit of a little murder-gremlin willing to manipulate, cheat, lie and do just about anything to ensure the RO's happiness? (Only slightly inspired by my beloved little schemer Aurora Duval)

Oooh interesting!

Creme de la Creme:

Hartmann: alarmed, would likely try and distance themself

Max: intrigued but has a limit on just how much badness they'd be happy with

Freddie: would really not like it

Delacroix: intrigued, would enjoy it quite a bit, has less of a limit on just how much badness they'd be happy with

Karson: compelled. Repulsed. Compelled again

Blaise: would swoon but also be mad if the MC were high-handed about it

Auguste: admiring, might start doing the same right back; along with Delacroix or Blaise, they could end up a horrible gremlin couple

Rosario: alarmed but careful about it, recognising that the MC's dangerous in a way they didn't realise or ask for

Florin: shocked, like: "why are you doing all that for me?" Not necessarily cross at the scheming but like it's A Lot

Noblesse Oblige:

Danelak: flattered and a bit confused? Maybe a bit alarmed but in an exciting way - that the MC cares enough to do it

Pascha: adores it, just absolutely melts about the situation

Rys: cautiously intrigued before falling entirely despite themself and wanting to be an incredible team about it

Royal Affairs:

Asher: bashful, flattered, shocked but on board

Beaumont: angry, unimpressed but a small part of them is pleased...? (but not enough to make them want to stick with the situation)

Dominique: shocked but also pretty impressed and a bit excited

Hyacinthe: worried for the MC and for the people they're hurting, and for themself being tangled up in it

Javi: it could go in a variety of directions but I think they'd be irritated at it being behind their back first and foremost, and maybe argue that they can handle themself

Trevelyan: would admire an MC who was willing to do what needed to be done based on their shared values (but would have some evilness caveats; the ends don't always justify the means, etc)

Thank you for the ask!

[gyrovagi]

hello and welcome to my gamer's den. here's a quick and dirty guide to the ocs i talk about constantly

CANON PROTAGS/NORMAL MEN. INNOCENT MEN:

eloy "el" surana (blood mage/arcane warrior) - i'm like if a control freak could control things ❤️ with blood magic ❤️. generally well-intentioned but hypervigilant, always playing 5d chess about the worst scenario. world's first moral (not necessarily ethical) male bigender manipulator. wields a wholly inappropriate degree of political influence in denerim

seongmin hawke (primarily diplomatic, sword + shield berserker) - afraid that his abandonment issues will leave him. pathologically conflict avoidant, fawn response to the max - up until someone he loves gets threatened, at which point good luck leaving alive lol. 'i don't think i need to talk about my feelings,' says man who just broke the arm of a templar asking around too much about the darktown clinic and then continued making casual conversation with varric as if nothing happened

ciuying "arav'assan" lavellan (archer, assassin) - king of compartmentalization. would really prefer to be one guy helping people on the ground rather than the unwilling inquisitor chained by power he never wanted, fighting for his life to be as politically uninvolved as possible. guy who is duty-bound never to return home

dak-wai (wi)thorne(s) (spellblade) - prospective rook, direct port of my bg3 durge. vashoth grey warden mage seeking a righteous purpose after a complicated and bloody past, but who has yet to find a better general approach to problems than killing things with hammers.

TGIRLS SAVE THE WORLD(STATE):

sang tabris (champion) - next shem bastard who pisses me off i'm just going to fucking kill you. alistair did you eat yet ^_^. struggling to reconcile an irrepressible hope for a better world with the abject horrors he's been subjected to by the world he lives in at present. morrigan's lesbian husband.

so-min hawke (blood mage) - girl could you at least pretend not to be a chantry-hating apostate in the middle of the gallows. carver just got suddenly pissed off in a darkspawn tunnel and he knows it's not because of the genlocks

r trevelyan (rift mage) - tranquil since 18, and at age 33, honestly dealing pretty well with accidentally getting a magical lobotomy reversed. yeah ok so maybe the random prolonged neutral-expression weeping is a little off-putting. it's hard when you're the white girl who needs to save yourself

yazmin de riva (duelist) - embittered bastard child of the young lord owain trevelyan. frighteningly competent and driven, but has difficulty taking orders and working with others due to the huge chip on her shoulder. thinks lucanis dellamorte is a nepo baby

INSANE WOMEN AND MALE MANIPULATORS:

ngayu brosca (reaver) - what do you MEAN the fate of the country is dependent on two twenty-year-olds one of whom gets scared looking at the sun. has never once in her life believed she would live past twenty and that's looking increasingly likely as a prediction

rina hawke (assassin) - when you are endlessly bitter and refuse to deal with it in any healthy way because that would require you to acknowledge your resentment towards the family members you perceive as a burden. chronically insincere, subservient but seething the whole time, wouldn't be able to name a solid belief if you asked her, incapable of self-reflection. crack baby you don't know what you want...

caden trevelyan (templar) - gay transgender homophobic misogynist. has weird ideas about being a man. constantly develops obsessive fixations on authoritative older men. believes he has the divine right to mete out violence. white boy who sucks 🔥

ha-neul aldwir (slayer) - prospective rook, veil jumper. fascinated by magic and magical artifacts. something of an oddity by both dwarven and non-dwarven standards, a guy with an endless thirst for life and little interest in denying himself pleasure or dwelling in guilt, for better or worse. can be surprisingly callous and self-interested, despite his generally upbeat, affable vibe.

PRONOUNS USERS GOING THROUGH IT/TRAGEDY WORLDSTATE;

enasa mahariel (ranger) - deadalive nothing girl who isn't. didn't anticipate that taking the vallaslin of dirthamen, twin brother to death, would be quite so prophetic. very clearly crumbling under mounting pressure while refusing to stop dragging the rotting corpse

bryn hawke (force mage) - half-avvar on malcolm's side, raised with what avvar beliefs and practices their father could half-remember from childhood. never quite at home in ferelden and struggling to come to terms with the idea they'll never be quite at home in their mother's city either. quietly shouldering other's burdens until it chokes them.

meiying lavellan (knight-enchanter) - turns out when you take an anxiety-ridden elf burdened with excess responsibility since youth out of their familiar environment and support system she'll have a bad time. solas' ex-spouse still misses him… but their aim's getting better!

orpheus ingellvar (death caller) - < he doesn't know (that he's the child of the last theirin king and the missing presumed dead hero of ferelden). surprisingly cheerful for a guy collectively raised by a bunch of necromancers, seems like a polite young man, but then he says something weird and offputting that makes you realize he's spent a lot of his life interacting with skeletons

ASSORTED GUYS:

dea surana - reserved but observant, knows it's best not to attract attention, tries to look after herself and her own in the ways she can. surprisingly worldly/cynical after her brother was taken by the templars at a young age and her life afterwards was spent largely on the road. then her situationship was like 'you know the hero of ferelden is named surana? circle mage, relative of yours?' and now she regularly talks to the king of ferelden

owain trevelyan - never really stopped hoping his older brother would come back from the circle and everything would be fine again. he's socially well-connected and charismatic, and could make for an influential heir to the house with motivation and an advantageous marriage - but he's a lot more interested in dragon hunting and boy bestiesisms with the prince of starkhaven.

valerie trevelyan - black sheep of the family, annoyed that this is more about lesbianism than being a fantasy communist. managed to pull off a 'buy my silence - for $8000 a month i will stop' ploy on her parents at 20, before she knew that this would end with her as the warden-commander's sister-in-law

ga-ying lavellan - middle sibling b/w meiying and ciuying, closer to both of them than they are with each other. tends to take things a little too lightly, an optimist unconcerned with anything outside of the clan and the present. the siblings' dads (and meiying, and his wife) are hoping the birth of his daughter will make him more serious. ciuying likes him as he is.

everybody's parents tend to be less developed than their kids are but they exist. In my mind . there's also a couple other extremely incidental fellas but they'll come up when they come up. i might also ramble about my non-da guys here but (closes my eyes and passes away silently)

[faith-less-one]

Fic: So It's You (1 / 14)

First chapter of my new AU Brennan/Cass fic! Original series here.

Brennan

Great-Aunt Lucille’s balls had been the talk of the Ostwick social season for as long as he could remember (and for quite a while before that, of course).

He used to love spying on the dancing from the gallery above, until the nanny came looking for him and his siblings and cousins, and chased them all back to bed. For years, he’d been waiting for his mother to tell him that he was finally old enough to go downstairs.

Max – the eldest of the Trevelyan siblings, five years older than him – had first attended barely a week after he turned sixteen. The heir of the family, the future Bann Trevelyan. Preparing him for his future role and showing him off to all the other noble families. Showing everyone what a good job Father had done at raising him.

Evie – his one and only sister, three years older than him – had also been allowed to attend after she turned sixteen. Showing everyone what a good job Mother had done at raising her. To start getting those marriage proposals in. More engagements are offered at one of Great-Aunt Lucille’s parties than any other date on the calendar, perhaps excepting the Grand Tourney, as Evie had once told him. He can certainly see why.

So, when he turned sixteen at the beginning of the spring, he’d been terribly excited. Finally, this year, he would be able to stand in the ballroom instead of lying on the gallery floor above. Sample the tiny nibbly bits that Great-Aunt Lucille’s eccentric Orlesian chef created especially for the occasion. Drink some of the sparkly wine that she had specially imported. Even dance! He’d made a study the previous year of which ladies rarely – if ever – got asked, and he was determined to make sure that he danced with everyone who was sat in the corners of the room pretending that all they wanted to do was eat tiny nibbly bits and sip sparkly wine while actually desperately watching the dancing. Because he knew how that felt, being left out.

And then, before he knew it, it was the evening of the ball, and he’d learned all the fashionable dances, and studied up on current events so he might have interesting things to say to people, and he’d been given a new tunic to wear, and he…

…was terrified.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[etdraconis]

Sometimes I wish DAO and DAI had just let us romance everyone regardless of gender. I know that's not realistic, or whatever reasoning they give for it. But damn it I want Max Trevelyan to be able to romance Solas because I just know my boy would be so giggly around the elf from the moment he met him!

[thiefbird]

for the WIP game, maybe that justsolanders and the mass effect aubreyad au?

alright! <3

So my JustSolAnders fic is also, of course, my Inky!Anders AU - I have a whole lot of bullet points!

Backstory-wise, Hawke romanced Sebastian, and she sided with the Templars. Merrill and Isabela managed to sneak Anders out of Kirkwall and onto Bela's ship, with Fenris's help(he told Hawke he wanted to do it himself, she believed him and left him to it. He told Anders something along the lines of "You don't get to not live with this. That's a worse punishment than making you a martyr: do what you can to make this right." [I don't think Anders needs to be punished for exploding the Chantry, but Fenris does.]); they also got Bethany out then, too, and some of the youngest apprentices.

Anders then eventually made his way to Ostwick's Circle, where he befriended a Mage-Templar sibling duo, Evelyn and Maxwell Trevelyan, and helped them stage the strange Ostwick exodus; unfortunately Maxwell was one of the few killed when Ostwick's Circle dissolved. Evelyn urged Anders to adopt her brother's identity, for Anders' safety, and because Maxwell would have wanted that (Anders and Max may or may not have had a romantic relationship, I haven't decided if I want to give Anders another dead lover).

As Maxwell Trevelyan, Anders became relatively well known as a voice for mage integration as opposed for isolationism, which is why he was invited to the Conclave

Leliana recognises him from Vigil's Keep (Leliana-romanced Warden, they may or may not have had a threesome with Anders. Probably did but it's never confirmed in fic), but is content to see what happens, because she can't resist a little chaos. He manages to avoid Varric until after the explosion; Varric is immediately convinced Anders is at fault (obviously Anders is the lead suspect in a Chantry-related explosion <3 ) but importantly does NOT tell Cassandra who he is at first, because Varric also knows the all-important rule Don't Talk To The Cops, and Anders' disguise is decent enough (short-cropped hair dyed black, beard also dyed black) to give him plausible deniability towards not immediately recognising him.

Solas immediately recognises Justice in Anders, but does not say anything because it's Solas. Also, he's intrigued by this guy with a spirit in him because of course he is.

In terms of general info, Bethany takes the role of Hawke, because even Varric can agree that Hawke has gone off the deep end. The only thing that could make Varric dislike Hawke is promising to lead an Exalted March on Kirkwall. Which she has done. Loghain is the Warden Contact; I am hand-waving how Bethany knows Loghain because I am do what I want. Merrill is the eluvian expert, not Morrigan, though she is also there, with a Loghain-sired Kieran; she and Merrill have a very intense and possibly leaning towards sapphic rivalry about the eluvians.

The Mass Effect Aubreyad AU WIP is a bunch of disorganised notes that I toss in there when I think of them (and mostly a list of who is what kind of Alien), but here you go!

Maybe Andromeda? Stephen would like that, EVERYTHING is a nondescript. He can name so many things after Jack if he wants to

Jack is a human. He is the most Human Guy I can think of. Platonic Ideal of Human Man

Stephen is either a drell(assassin/spy) or a quarian. I cannot make up my mind but it's definitely one of these.

I cannot decide if Diana and Sophie are humans, or asari, or if Sophie is a human and Diana is asari - they could still be cousins even if Diana is asari, and then it can be extra tragic when she dies. Bc she should have outlived Stephen by hundreds of years.

James Dillon is a turian. He is SUCH a turian. Platonic Ideal of a Turian. Probably still had A Thing with Stephen.

If not set in Andromeda, is Jack Shepard? Maybe? That would be very stressful for him. That would be very stressful for everyone. I do not think Stephen would cope well with Jack being Lazarus'd. It would be funny tho

[chasindtrevelyan]

Max is thirteen when news of a Blight spreading across Fereldan reaches Ostwick…along with a number of refugees who’d fled for their lives. While rumor had it that Kirkwall was the harbor for most refugees, it didn’t mean the other city states didn’t see their own stragglers. For the most part, the people of Ostwick were tolerant of the newcomers, so long as they were willing to work and whether it be on the farms or as servants at the noble houses, or wherever they could apply their skills. Not all of them were agreeable, some turned to banditry, others turned to living on the outskirts of society and begging for scraps.

Max himself knew little of them, only that they were strangers to their lands, and that he should treat them with kindness, but also with caution. He thought little of it, going about his days the same as he ever had.

However, there came a day when the whispers in the halls turned into a panicked meeting. Pockets of blight had been discovered and ghouls spotted roaming about the woods nearby. A search party was formed, and though he was young, Max was allowed to join on the promise that he remained with his brother. Aden was only two years older, but he was bigger and stronger and had more formal training and so it was deemed that Max would be safe enough in his company. The brothers were not about to complain, and off they went to search in the direction they were ordered.

For hours they combed the woods, but as time passed they began to suspect that they’d been sent in the least dangerous direction. Still, they kept looking…even as they began goofing around and acting the way young boys tend to when not being monitored. Their fun was interrupted when Max slipped and went tumbling down a hole, Aden jumping down after him to check that he was alright. Beyond some dirty scratches, all was well, and they turned their attention to getting back out. The lip of the hole was just beyond reach, and what roots stuck out from the ground proved too weak to be used as a means to pull themselves up.

There was a cave several meters further in, which they considered as another possible exit, but with no clear idea where it might lead other options had to be considered first. They were discussing the possibility of Aden boosting Max out of the hole and going for help when they heard it. A shuffling noise, followed by a low groan. Turning, they both froze.

A ghoul.

It appeared to be a woman in a dirty, tattered dress, but her face was clearly disfigured by blight, her eyes milky and dead looking. They’d been told what to look for, and she certainly fit the bill. More shuffling from deeper into the gloom of the cave told them that she was not alone. They couldn’t stay here. They had to get out.

Aden crouched, hands cupped in front of him.

“Get over here!”

Max didn’t try to argue, he went, bracing a foot in his brothers hands and reaching for the lip of the hole as he was hefted upwards. He dug his fingers into the dirt and stone and clawed his way forward until he could stumble to his feet. He twisted back around, reaching down, but Aden shook his head.

“I’m too heavy, you’ll just be pulled back in. Go find father and the others!”

He wanted to argue, to beg, but he knew better. Aden was right, and the only way to save him was to find more people. He scrambled to his feet, and took off in the direction he knew the others had gone, yelling for help as he went. Adrenaline and fear replaced fatigue, and he ran even as his legs began to ache and his lungs began to burn. He didn’t know how far he went before he found the others, but he all but knocked his father over as he stumbled into him. His concern was plain, but Max had no air to explain, so he simply yanked on his fathers arm and pulled him back the way he’d come, gasping Aden’s name only once.

It was enough, his father remounted his horse, hauling Max up behind him and he and the others set off in the direction the youngest Trevelyan indicated. He was not allowed near the hole once they reached it, held in place by one of the soldiers as a precaution while his father and another soldier reached the lip and reached down, hauling Aden up only moments later. He was alive, if a bit bloody, and though it clearly pained his father to do it, he ordered everyone to keep a distance as they escorted the boys back home. Another contingent would be sent out to deal with the remaining ghouls.

Once they arrived, Aden was whisked away out of sight and Max was led to a separate room to be checked over. When it was clear he was unhurt, he was sent to his room with strict instructions to eat something and get some sleep. Wearily, he agreed, though his sleep was fitful and broken up by nightmares. When morning came and Aden was still nowhere to be seen, he went looking for his father and was told that Aden had been quarantined in the infirmary until further notice. Until they could be certain he had not been infected with the Blight, they could risk no others going near him.

Max’s protests fell on deaf ears, and when he refused to relent, he was ordered back to his room. He opened his mouth to argue further, but a sharp smack had him closing it and spinning on his heal to leave the room. Message received.

Unfortunately for his father, he seemed to have forgotten that Max was not one to listen to rules when it came to his closest sibling. Once out of sight, he made his way to the halls used primarily by the servants, one of which contained a back door to the infirmary. To their credit, the door was locked, but Max knew how to get into places he shouldn’t and he had the lock undone in a matter of minutes and he slipped inside the room after making sure it really was deserted. He could see Aden sitting next to the window and he darted in his direction without a moment’s hesitation.

It was foolish and reckless. Aden could be tainted, and by exposing himself, he very well could become so too if that were the case. But he didn’t care. If Aden was tainted, they would leave him hear until he died, and then deal with his body afterwards and Max refused to let that happen. If Aden was tainted, he would not let his brother die alone.

Aden was, understandably, furious with him. Yelling all manner of things about how much of an idiot he was being, things he knew their father was likely to parrot later should they both survive this ordeal. But eventually he ran out of steam, and though clearly still angry, he did not turn Max away when he tucked himself against his side.

He would stay, for better or worse, he would stay.

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

Found the cutest template for ocs, so I have to do this! I'm turning it into a tag game because I think it would be fun to see others' ocs!

I made it for my ldb, Ravonna and of course I couldn't resist and I made Miraak as well. Of course, this is just the version of Miraak from my fic AND MY OC, HJALDIR, MY BELOVED PIRATE-BARD WHO LIVES RENT FREE IN MY MIND🥺 and also my DA:I oc, Max!

Tagging @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @ghostfacedbat @thelavenderelf @the-troll-of-the-bridge @shitty-drawer @nerevar-quote-and-star if you want to do it, of course! No pressure. If anyone else wants to get tagged in my silly little tag games, please let me know! 💖

They're not my ocs, but I wanted to do this with the whole fellowship from my fic, so here it is, under the cut as well as the blank format!

[potatoesandsunshine]

like if you had a big problem (the veil between the waking and dreaming world is tearing and demons are pouring through), and you had one person in the entire world with the tool to fixing that problem (glowing hand)... you would not be cool with that person throwing himself into completely unnecessary danger for the thrill and glory of it (fighting dragons)

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Ssp top hits - AO3 era

Tagged by the lovely and talented @thebyrchentwigges, who is a gorgeous human being I adore.

The preamble: So, wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks/Most words/Least words.

Sadly it has been AGES since I've touched fic, but this is a good opportunity to go poke through unfinished projects. (She says, fully aware of the unfinished novel burning a hole in her browser tabs...)

Most Hits/Most Kudos/Most Comments: The Length and Breadth of Fury Road. Mad Max: Fury Road, Max/Furiosa.

Max leaves, and Furiosa stays.

I posted the first chapter of this exactly two weeks after the movie came out when there were like six other fics in existence anywhere, so I was very very lucky to catch the new-fandom wave of interest. (Why did you wait two whole weeks, you might ask? Chop chop, time's a-wasting. I was too busy seeing the movie four times in the theater, but after that fourth screening, my poor husband was like, "...can we maybe see something else?") This fic defined my entire life for three years, introduced me to some of the most amazing people I've ever met, and my life has never been the same.

Most Words: The Moth. Horizon: Zero Dawn, Aloy/Erend.

Moths seek out light, he thinks, and die for it. Maybe they know, but they still can’t stay away. He feels like that, a slow, inexorable urge to set himself on fire in the wild blaze of her hair.

I would have bet money that L&B would make a complete sweep of this, but apparently Moth edges it out by almost 4k. I'm not as proud of this one, because I don't think it's written as well. It spanned the year I was in a protracted bipolar breakdown, including the period where I was in an intensive outpatient program, so while it did a good job keeping me afloat, when I go back and reread it, it's very obvious (to my eye) I wasn't at the top of my game. It was great fun though.

Least Words, overall: DAI Drabbles. Dragon Age Inquisition, gen.

Random drabbles of my headcanon. I reserve the right to move them to other works as they fit.

Technically, these are not drabbles (not exactly 100 words, but ah well) and they're not technically their own fic, just fragments of the larger DAI epic that I never quite got into. (You can thank Fury Road for that abrupt pivot.) I have a ton more DAI that I never uploaded, so maybe at some point I'll get bored one day and tackle that disappointing mess.

Least Words, completed fic: The Things Left Behind. Dragon Age Inquisition, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan.

“Thom Rainier?” she hears herself say, her voice calm and collected and very, very far away. “No. I didn’t know him at all.”

I never would have let my Inquisitor have anything other than a happy ending, but some itches just need to be scratched.

Now, for the tagging! I am so shit at picking people, because I know SO MANY excellent fic writers and I have no idea who has already seen this meme. So, at complete random: @silver-dream89 @aubade @theherocomplex @fuckyeahisawthat and anyone else who is even vaguely interested. Love you all!

[bluerose5]

Their Perfect Oasis

Prompt fill from discord for Maxwell Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus. Turned out longer than I expected (because of course it did) but hope y'all enjoy! Click the title to read on ao3. 💙

Summary:

All Dorian wanted, at first, was his book back.

The last thing he expected was for Maxwell Trevelyan to spoil him with an afternoon together.

~~~

Maxwell Trevelyan had always been quick on his feet.

There Dorian was one afternoon, minding his own business while he combed through tome after tome in the Inquisition’s library. Their meager collection had few works that he deemed to be of any noteworthy academic merit, let alone worthy of his time to read, but some proved interesting enough to add to his ever-growing pile of books.

What they found during their travels typically turned out to be far more interesting, ancient ruins filled to the brim with anecdotal accounts and mysterious artifacts. While he left most of the elven stuff for Solas to study, there was still so much to review in between his own research.

He was going through all that he had gathered on the connections between rift magic and time magic when his beloved Inquisitor made his appearance.

“There you are,” Maxwell greeted.

Although he tried to put on an air of indifference, Dorian ended up smiling in spite of himself.

“Where I always am around this time of day,” he said, not once looking away from the scroll he had spread out over his pitiful excuse of desk, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that he was all that focused anyways, it being near impossible to pay attention with Maxwell around.

After he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, Dorian quickly turned to scour through his and Alexius’s old notes, more so to hide his now-flustered expression.

Warmth spread throughout his cheeks at Maxwell’s low chuckle.

“Looking as stunning as always,” Maxwell breathed, his words overflowing with a reverence that made Dorian’s heart skip a beat. 

“Was that ever in question?” Dorian countered.

Maxwell pressed himself flush against his side, a hand braced upon the table as he leaned in to brush his lips along the shell of Dorian's ear.

"Never," he replied. Dorian’s fingers froze when he started to shuffle through the pages, but he could hear the smirk in Max's voice, clear as day. "Am I distracting you?"

Dorian shook his head, more so to clear his mind than to answer the question.

"I—No, of course not! I was just—"

"Then, let me try a little harder."

Without warning, Maxwell disappeared from his side.

One second, he was snuggled up to Dorian. Then, the next, he was leaning against the wall near the staircase, a book in hand that he pretended to flip through. He studied Dorian, eyes alight with mischief, but the latter watched him skeptically, arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doi—" Dorian started to ask, but it was in that exact moment that he processed what book Maxwell held.

It was almost comical, how his head snapped towards the desk, then back towards Maxwell, then to the desk again.

Maxwell pinched one of the book's corners, allowing it to dangle precariously.

Oh, the horror. To have a work so highly disrespected.

Dorrian huffed.

"What?" Maxwell teased, attempting to sound innocent but ultimately failing, way too pleased with himself for his own good. "Need something?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Dorian sighed, "it has come to my attention that I am indeed missing a book."

"You don't say."

"Mm-hmm…" Dorian took a step forward, but Maxwell mirrored him easily enough, one foot positioned on the next step. "A book vital to my research, in fact. One that I would very much like back."

"Ah, and what would you be willing to do for this book, I wonder."

"Name your price."

The next step down was more purposeful, the way Maxwell shifted his weight. 

Understanding dawned on Dorian then.

"Maxwell," he warned, pointing a finger in his direction, "I am not chasing after you."

Maxwell simply beamed at him in response. He tucked the book underneath his arm, pressed tightly against his side.

"I'll make it worth your while," he promised.

"I'll make it worth yours if you just— Well, and there he goes," Dorian grumbled.

The madman didn't even hesitate to dart off down the stairs.

"Max!" Dorian called out, forgetting where he was for a second. 

Teasing laughter rang out in a slight echo that traveled throughout the tower. A few unimpressed glances were tossed their way, but Dorian ignored them.

Tapping his foot upon the floor, he shook his head in disbelief.

"I am not going to chase him," he told himself. "I am not…"

Down below, he could hear Maxwell say, "Hi, Solas! Bye, Solas!" as he escaped into the throne room. Not that Solas had much time to mumble out an amused greeting of his own, the Inquisitor there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Time was wasting, but Dorian’s curiosity eventually got the better of him.

He paused his mantra, bottom lip poked out into an exaggerated pout.

"Vishante kaffas," he swore, approaching the staircase. "Okay, and now I'm chasing after you."

The things he did for that man.

He followed after him at a brisk walk, not a run!

He had to retain some semblance of dignity after all.

It was bad enough that he had to put up with Solas's knowing stare as he passed through the rotunda, so it seemed that Dorian would suffer even the greatest torments for Maxwell’s sake.

Whatever he had planned better be worth all the effort.

When Varric heard his entrance into the main hall, he didn't even so much as look up from his writings. Instead, he simply jabbed his thumb in the direction of the doors, Dorian smiling sheepishly before continuing on his way.

Once outside, Dorian caught a split-second glimpse of Max on his way towards the stables, but Dorian saw the bait for what it was. He knew all too well that, if Maxwell truly wanted to elude him, then he would have done so by now. Either that, or he would have melted away into the shadows, only to be seen when it was his moment to strike.

Dorian had to admit, part of him actually enjoyed this little game of theirs. He knew it to be playful, all intended in good faith, and he absolutely adored how Max loved to tease him.

It would make "catching him" all the more rewarding.

However, as things turned out, he didn't even have to catch him, not when Maxwell came to him instead.

Rushing down the remaining stairs and through the courtyards, Dorian stopped short when he heard the clomping of a horse’s hooves draw closer.

With a tug on the horses’ reins, Maxwell guided two of the Inquisition’s best mounts to a stop in front of him. Both of them were of sturdy, dependable builds with slick, glossy coats, one brown and the other black.

When they shifted to a halt, Maxwell fed them some apple slices from their packs, then turned to beam at Dorian.

“After you, my dear,” Max said, his hand outstretched to him.

“What?” Dorian asked, eyebrow raised in question. “Are we going for a ride?”

“How observant of you to notice,” Maxwell teased, “but, yes, we are. I have a surprise for you.”

“A gift?” Dorian pressed. “My, my, I do love being spoiled, especially by you.”

“Then, you’ll love this,” he said. His expression gentled, causing a swarm of butterflies to flutter around within Dorian’s chest. “I promise.”

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Dorian coughed quietly under his breath to clear it.

“Right,” he said. He nodded at the closest horse, the one that stood as black as night. “I’ll take this one.”

“A fine horse for a pretty man,” Max praised.

“The prettiest,” Dorian corrected.

Placing his hand into Maxwell’s, he hoisted himself up into the horse’s saddle. Not that he needed the assistance, but he could hardly turn down such an offer from Max. He adjusted his weight around to get comfortable while Maxwell mounted the other horse with ease.

Dorian froze into place when he glanced over, only to become tongue-tied at the very sight of him.

Back in the library, the lighting had been muted enough —and everything had happened so quickly— that Dorian didn’t really get a good look at him before.

Now, it was as if he was seeing him clearly for the first time.

Sunlight washed over him in a wave of gold, each feature emphasized with the attention reserved for the most revered religious icons. Dorian wouldn’t be surprised if they were already carving statues in his honor, devoted to reproducing every last detail to perfection.

Perched upon his horse, Maxwell held himself upright with the utmost confidence.

Warm, sun-kissed skin soaked up the afternoon rays. Brown hair was carefully slicked back, teasing glances beckoning Dorian to follow him to the ends of the world itself. Maxwell inspired a loyalty influenced by a power greater than a siren’s song, a loyalty that might even lead them to their eventual demise, a fate accepted in stride so long as Dorian could remain by his side.

Maxwell circled his horse around him, and Dorian couldn’t help but wonder if the posturing was intentional.

After all, he had certainly cleaned up for—for whatever this was.

Gone were those tasteless rags of his, those drab, brown pajamas hopefully tossed out of his wardrobe for good.

In their place, Maxwell wore a blue shirt, crafted of the finest silk that shimmered lightly through each shift of his chest. The top few buttons were left undone, revealing a golden chain nestled around his throat and hanging down between his pecs. Black, form-fitting pants accentuated the shape of his legs, hugging Maxwell’s hips and thighs. The fabric was tucked into a pair of black, leather boots, designed for both style and comfort.

Dorian had to admit, he was impressed.

All of that, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger to help.

Safe to say, Maxwell took his breath away.

Younger Dorian, who spent his days reading and fantasizing about handsome, heroic princes from far-off lands, positively swooned at the sight before him.

Not that current Dorian was faring much better.

He swallowed thickly as he watched Max, his lips parted in awe.

Maxwell, oblivious to Dorian’s appraisal —or, perhaps, acutely aware of it— flashed him a blinding smile.

"Race you!" he stated.

With a slight flick of the reins and a click of his tongue, the horse sped up into a steady trot towards the drawbridge. People maneuvered around them both, steering clear of their path.

It was hard to ignore all of the stares they were attracting; but, for once, Dorian was inclined to let them look.

He had the most amazing man in Thedas all to himself, and that was all that mattered.

Catching up to him, Dorian feigned an annoyed grumble.

"A rather unfair challenge, don't you think?" Dorian asked. "Considering the fact that you know the way to our destination while I am left in the dark, following on blind faith alone."

Maxwell hummed in contemplation, drinking in the sight of Dorian from head to toe, which was fair. Dorian had certainly gotten his fill of Max. The latter deserved to marvel in the excellence of his resident altus.

And if Dorian happened to sit up a bit straighter under the weight of that appreciative gaze, head held high with pride…

Well, that would remain between the two of them.

Voice warm and low, Maxwell leaned in and told him, "Try to keep up then."

Without warning, he took off into a galloping pace, a hearty laugh left in his wake.

Once again, Dorian was left chasing after him, ringing out with his own laughter in turn.

"Oh, you're delightful!" Dorian called out over the whipping winds, quickly gaining on Maxwell’s position, only a couple of paces behind.

Together, they rode through the mountainside until the blank canvas of white gave way to snow-covered flora. Icicles hung like crystals from bare branches, capturing sunlight, only to cast it out in an array of colors.

Thankfully, Dorian had little time to even think about the cold, let alone fixate upon it.

Eventually, they arrived at the edge of a clearing. Maxwell slowed to a stop, far enough from Skyhold to grant them some privacy yet close enough to be back a moment’s notice, should they be needed.

While Dorian didn't think himself to be much of a praying man, he happily prayed then that they not be needed. Not anytime soon, at least.

After Maxwell jumped down from his horse, he approached Dorian’s side without missing a beat. Offering his hand out again, Dorian gladly took it, allowing Maxwell to help him down to his feet.

They stood there for a second, chest to chest, while all of the world and its problems melted away into the background.

"Well," Maxwell said, "looks like I won the race."

"You don't say," Dorian hummed. Gentle fingers combed through Max's hair, coaxing any strays back into place. "I never would have guessed."

"Mm-hmm…"

They stole glances at each other's lips.

Maxwell tugged him closer by the waist, Dorian’s arms wrapped around his neck.

Their noses brushed ever so slightly.

"Tell me," Dorian whispered. "What prize does the illustrious Inquisitor desire for his well-earned victory?"

By then, their lips were barely a hair’s width away.

"A kiss from a certain someone would suffice, but that must wait, I'm afraid." Their lips had only just grazed against one another when their warmth disappeared entirely. Dorian's breath was stolen from him as Maxwell pulled away, placing a careful distance between them both. "All in due time, handsome."

"Hmph, you're such a tease," Dorian huffed, albeit with no real heat to his voice.

"It'll be worth it," Maxwell reminded him. He even had the audacity to wink at him. "I'll make it up to you later."

"You better."

"I swear. Now, close your eyes."

"Seriously?" Dorian scoffed.

"Please," Maxwell said. "For me?"

Well, when he put it like that…

"Oh, alright, fine!" Dorian closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're lucky you're so cute."

Maxwell only chuckled in response.

Dorian listened closely while he coaxed the horses away with soft murmurs. His footsteps faded off into the distance, but logic told Dorian that it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before he returned.

Didn't stop those few minutes from feeling like an eternity.

Maxwell took him by the hands and led him forward.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready for what, exactly?" Dorian wondered.

"You'll find out. All I ask is that you keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."

"Not cryptic at all."

Nevertheless, he followed, trusting Maxwell with his life.

Dorian spoke to fill the ensuing silence.

"You know, we should have ridden double," Dorian stated. "Like in the stories! The ones where the protagonist whisks the love interest away on horseback, arms wrapped tightly around them as they ride off into the sunset together."

Max snorted. "But of course. One small problem, though."

"And what is that?"

"As lovely as the idea is, horses can only support so much before you start to risk injury to them or yourself, and I, for one, was not going to be on the receiving end of Master Dennet's anger for hurting one of his precious babies."

"Fair enough," Dorian conceded, sighing dramatically. "Foolish books, giving me unrealistic expectations of romance."

"Heh, hopefully this will make up for it."

Snow crunched beneath their feet until, surprisingly, it stopped.

Before Dorian could question him about it, Maxwell beat him to the punch.

"Just a little farther, and…" Maxwell trailed off. He took Dorian by the shoulders and arranged him into position. Strangely enough, Dorian felt the cold wash away. In its place, a wave of heat enveloped them, but Maxwell hardly sounded shocked by this development. "There!" He released him. "Now, open your eyes."

Dorian didn’t have to be told twice.

He squinted, blinking past the relentless daylight, and eventually managed to pry his eyes open.

What awaited them was unlike anything he had expected.

It was a scene plucked right out of a fairytale.

Without thinking, Dorian placed a hand over his racing heart.

“Wow,” he gasped. “This is amazing.”

Even then, that was the understatement of the century.

The clearing that Maxwell brought him to was secluded; however, more than that, it had the thriving appearance of a meadow in spring. A large, square area was protected from the harsh winter snow. Lush, green grass sprouted all over, sprinkled with patches of colorful wildflowers that danced in the occasional breeze.

In the center of it all, a blanket was spread out. And upon that blanket, there sat a basket, alongside Dorian’s long-forgotten book.

Streams of golden light filtered through the nearby branches, reflecting off of tiny motes that glided through the air.

Their horses were secured to a tree close by, grazing happily amongst the fresh grass.

It was their own little oasis, surrounded by a cold desert.

After another speechless moment to really soak it all in, Dorian was finally able to catch his breath.

“Maxwell.” He turned to him, incredulous. “How did you manage to do all of this?”

He waved his arms grandly at the setting before them, twirling in place.

Pleased with his reaction, Maxwell shrugged, uncharacteristically bashful, as he glanced around.

“I might have asked Dagna for a favor,” he said, nodding at each of the square’s four corners. “The work of runes. They ward off the cold and ‘any critters or creepy crawlies,’ as she explained it. Kind of like a mixture of fire runes for warmth and protective sigils to keep the wildlife at bay.”

“Makes sense,” Dorian breathed, once again impressed with the quality of her work. “Remind me to thank her later.”

“We both will,” Maxwell assured him, then admitted, “I had actually wanted to bring you sooner, but I needed to position the runes just right. Then, after that, it was basically a waiting game for the snow to melt and the mud to dry up.”

So, he had been working on this for a while then.

Dorian smiled at him tenderly.

“Thank you,” he said.

Maxwell chuckled.

“You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

“You mean, there’s more?”

“Of course.” Taking Dorian’s hand in his, Maxwell bowed slightly at the waist to press a kiss upon the back of it. His lips lingered, eyes trained on Dorian the entire time. “Will you dine with me, Serah Pavus?”

“I’d be honored to.”

Eager to see what else he had in store for him, Dorian all but dragged him over to the blanket. Maxwell, ever the gentleman, helped him get seated before joining him at his side.

Dorian didn’t so much as hesitate before snuggling up to him.

Maxwell tossed him a grin and opened up the basket.

A whiff of warm spices instantly greeted them. Dorian’s mouth watered. His stomach grumbled.

The scent was a familiar one, one that reminded him of home, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up, trying his best to sneak a peek.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” he asked.

“I made us lamb curry,” Maxwell answered, casual as can be.

Dorian choked at that.

“Wait, what?”

“I said that I made—”

“I heard what you said, but you cooked?” Dorian stammered. “For me?”

“Was I not supposed to do that?” Maxwell deadpanned. 

“I— No! I mean, it’s just that…” Dorian blew out a frustrated breath, at a loss for words. “Surely, you have more important things to do than wait on me, hand and foot. You must be incredibly busy.”

“Not busy enough to neglect spending time with you. I know you’ve been homesick,” Maxwell stated, his brow furrowed in concern. He reached out and cupped Dorian’s cheek, brushing his thumb along the curve of it. “I know it’s not the same, but I wanted you to feel a little bit at home. Here, with me.”

Dorian melted into his touch, releasing a shaky breath.

“Damn it. You’re going to make me cry at this rate,” he informed him. Already, he could feel a slight sting building at the corner of his eyes. He blinked past the burn of unshed tears. Carefully, he wiped at them before they could fall. “Stop it. I have an image to uphold, you know.”

Maxwell snickered.

“Of course. Here.” He reached into the basket and unearthed a bottle, cradled with the utmost care. “Something to cheer you up.”

Dorian didn’t even have to read the label to know what it was.

“You got us an Antivan Red imported in?” he asked. “Out here? Don’t even get me started on the spices that you had to get for that curry, Inquisitor.”

“Leliana and I might have pulled some strings,” Maxwell said.

“Of course you did.” Dorian playfully glared at him, the bottle hugged close to his chest. “Okay, out with it.”

“Out with what?” Maxwell questioned. He cocked his head to the side.

“What’s the special occasion?” Dorian countered. “My guess is that you’re either going to propose, or you’re going to ask to fool around out here in the middle of the woods, where anyone could happen upon us.”

“The real question is, would you even say yes to either of those options?”

Dorian thought it over, then shrugged.

“Ask me after my third glass.”

Once he opened it, he shamelessly took a swig from the bottle, comfortable enough to ignore decorum when they were all alone.

Maxwell passed him two glasses, which he filled up generously. In the meantime, Max worked on uncovering their dish, still steaming with warmth over a bed of rice.

“Want to try a bite?” he asked.

Scooping up a heaping portion with his fork, he held it out in offering.

As if Dorian would refuse.

“I’d love to.”

The instant Dorian wrapped his lips around the fork, he swore that he transcended to a whole other plane of existence.

Now, usually when he read fiction, the premise of someone moaning over their food was always eye roll-inducing at best.

However, after trying Maxwell’s cooking, he was a changed man.

The richness of the base, the tenderness of the lamb, the warmth of the spices…

All of it came together perfectly.

“Oh,” he purred, “you, my good sir, are a god amongst men.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Maxwell teased.

He took his glass of wine from Dorian and raised it between them.

They stared into each other’s eyes while he made his toast.

“To us,” he whispered.

They clinked their glasses together.

“To us,” Dorian agreed, as they both took a more tentative sip to savor the taste.

The light, fruity notes complimented their dish well. An exquisite pairing that lingered on the palate, but not that he expected anything less from Max.

Once again, Dorian found himself stealing glimpses of Maxwell’s lips.

“You know this will cause people to talk,” he said.

“Compared to usual,” Maxwell replied, his sarcasm deafening, “when they remain absolutely silent about the two of us?”

“You know what I mean.” Dorian snuggled closer, his lips quirked up into a smirk. “You ran off to some secluded location with that dastardly Tevinter magister.” He rolled his eyes at the misuse of the title. “Maker have mercy!” He raised his voice in pitch, mimicking a tone of fright and scandal. “Will our beloved Inquisitor return the same? How are we sure that madman isn’t conducting some sinister ritual in secret, sacrificing the blood of goats and virgins in the name of the Black Divine?”

“Hmm…” Maxwell hummed with a pointed look around the clearing. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think there are any goats around.” He snorted. “Or virgins, I’m afraid.”

“Alas,” Dorian sighed, “I guess that we’ll have to make do without.”

“Cast your magic then. I’d happily fall under your spell.”

“You’re terrible.”

Using his free hand, Dorian curled his finger around Maxwell’s chain, tugging him closer until their lips brushed.

Maxwell swallowed thickly.

“Kiss me,” Dorian whispered. “Please, I—”

Whatever he was going to say, Maxwell cut him off in an instant. Their lips crashed against one another, pleading, desperate. They gasped for breath, only to reclaim the kiss with renewed fervor.

Dorian didn’t know how long they stayed there, lost in the moment and the feel of each other.

Part of him wanted so badly to remain there forever, but all good things must come to an end, or so people said.

Eventually, they parted.

Maxwell rested his forehead against Dorian’s while they struggled to compose themselves.

The words slipped free before Dorian could even process them.

“Are we sure that I’m not dreaming right now?”

“If you are,” Maxwell answered, stealing a swift peck, “then promise not to wake up, because I don’t ever want this dream to end.”

Dorian smiled into the next kiss.

“Neither do I.”